


i've still got the fangs

by Hannah (hannahoftheinternet)



Category: Raven Cycle - Maggie Stiefvater
Genre: Dream Pack (Raven Cycle), Fist Fights, Gen, Recreational Drug Use, Sadism, Violence, proko gets whaled on by jiang, this is literally just gratuitous violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-22
Updated: 2020-06-22
Packaged: 2021-03-03 20:33:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 893
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24861616
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hannahoftheinternet/pseuds/Hannah
Summary: Exactly what it says in the tags.
Kudos: 2





	i've still got the fangs

**Author's Note:**

> Literally no excuse for this. Title from Waterparks' Little Violence.

Prokopenko is sitting on the ground, high out of his mind on cocaine, his pupils wide, his nose slightly bloodied. He’s taken most of what they brought, not bothering to offer any to Jiang, who had smoked half of a cigarette on arrival but quickly gotten bored and stubbed it out on the ground. He offered some to Skov multiple times, but he refused on the grounds that he didn’t want to crash during practice the next morning. “Teetotaler,” Proko says, too loudly.

Jiang is currently swigging from a bottle of Jack Daniels, casting glances around the empty parking lot. It’s well after dusk, the pavement lit in intervals by the lampposts. A few insects flutter around them, mindless, and Jiang, leaning against a post, smacks them out of the air without mercy. A bag of coke sits abandoned, positioned perfectly on one of the white dividing lines of a parking space.

“You sure you don’t want some?” Proko half-snaps in Skov’s direction. Sitting on the nearby fence edging the soccer field, Skov sneers. “It’ll be gone soon.”

“Stop fucking bothering me about it,” Skov spits back. He hefts a good-sized rock in his hand and throws it at Proko, who leans out of the way, letting it clatter on the pavement.

“Prokes,” Jiang says, straightening up. “Leave him alone.”

“Make me,” says Proko, cackling unpleasantly. “Just make me, Jiang.”

“Don’t fucking try me,” snarls Jiang. He is protective of Skov in a way that K and Proko don’t understand. Swan gets it, but Swan isn’t here. Skov claims to hate it, but Jiang secretly thinks he likes having the pack split over him. Likes having them fight over him.

Most nights, Proko would back down, unwilling to risk getting hit for talking shit. He’s dumb as the rocks Skov throws at him, but even he knows better. Not tonight, though. Cocaine and the cover of dark made him stupid, and Jiang can see in his eyes even as he stands up and throws the punch that he knows he’s going to face the consequences.

It’s a good thump, as far as coke-fueled punches go; it makes contact with Jiang’s cheekbone and sends him stumbling back. He drops the bottle of Jack on the ground and it shatters, splashing whiskey all over the ground. He’s unbalanced, just for a moment, his ears ringing and his vision turning black at the edges. His face burns where Proko’s knuckles made contact with his skin. He returns with a blow of his own, and his aim is true. The crunch of breaking bone is music to his ears, and the sight of blood gushing over Proko’s mouth makes him smile, fierce and savage. Jiang is no stranger to the feeling of a broken nose, but he hopes this one hurts more than they usually do. He’s been itching for a fight.

Despite the shattered bones in his skull, Proko puts up a good fight. He has four inches on Jiang, and for all the massive amounts of drugs he swallows down and hoovers up, he’s strong. When he grabs Jiang, locking an arm around his throat, his eyesight immediately starts to flicker. He gasps for air, involuntary tears pricking his eyes at the sudden loss of oxygen. His fingers flex and twitch on reflex, scrabbling for purchase on empty air. His legs kick randomly, seemingly of their own accord, as his brain starts to fuzz out. His eyes cross.

Suddenly, he’s free, choking again on his frenzied gasp for air, needing oxygen in his brain and lungs. Choking gives way to panting, which gives way to laughing, and he’s kneeling on the pavement, screaming with hysterical laughter as he realizes that the only reason he’s breathing right now is because of Skov and his steel-toed boots, having delivered a kick directly where it hurts Proko the most.

Proko is curled in a ball on the pavement, but he can’t protect himself from this. Skov moves to deliver another kick, but Jiang flings out a hand in a  _ stay back _ gesture. “I’ll handle this.” His voice rasps, and it hurts. It’s going to hurt more when he smokes another cigarette, after this is over, but that’s how he wants it.

He nudges Proko’s knees away from his chest with his foot and kicks him in the sternum. Proko groans in a way that sounds like he’s swallowing back a scream, so Jiang does it again, harder. There’s a sound that might be ribs cracking, and he laughs again, filled to the brim with savage delight at the way Proko is at his mercy, a heap of ruined boy crumpled at his feet. It might be the Jack talking, but he doesn’t think so.

After a couple more kicks, he’s satisfied, and he leans back, gesturing for Skov to come to him. The boy does, and Jiang scrubs his bruised knuckles in his hair. “No one messes with you.”

“I think you killed him,” Skov says, sounding vaguely unconcerned as he looks at the pile of boy on the pavement.

“Who cares?” says Jiang, and snickers when Proko moans like a wounded animal on the ground. When they bring this story to K, he’ll laugh and laugh, and press his thumbs against the bruises on Proko’s chest. They’re all the worst kinds of people, sadists and masochists both.

**Author's Note:**

> Comments are a writer's best friend!


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